


Zarrin-tak-suri

by perryvic, Zaganthi (Caffiends)



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Plot What Plot, Teambuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-12
Updated: 2007-08-12
Packaged: 2017-10-28 03:18:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/303143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perryvic/pseuds/perryvic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caffiends/pseuds/Zaganthi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John didn’t want to appear ungrateful, especially with a ZPM at stake, but the prospect filled him with a quiet dread as he knew from his own experience, these things never turned out well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Zarrin-tak-suri

The people of the hot desert world of MX-836 called it Arshera-tak-Atash which Teyla had helpfully translated as meaning something like ‘Throne of Fire’ in what passed for legend eroded ancient languages that littered the Pegasus galaxy. It could’ve referred to the blistering heat, but it hadn't been a huge leap for anyone at the briefing to put two and two together and come up with maybe a defense outpost, possibly an ancient command chair as a possible interpretation for the name.

Instead of the predicted cake-walk, it had ended up as a typical life and death mission. Typical for John’s team at least, as most of the others managed to only get in trouble maybe once a month whereas they seemed to manage diving headfirst into tricky situations most times they stepped through a Stargate. Turned out Wraith avoided the place *most* of the time because of the desert heat and bleach white light, but would cull Arshera when hunger drove them. And with their early awakening, the Wraith were definitely hungry.

There were strange energy readings, and eventually a local thought to tell them of ancient ruins embedded in rock formations in the middle of the desert. It had been a race to get there and a race to get to the barely working command chair and really, it was a royal pain in the ass that so many of the Arsherians had actually seen him get into the command chair and with help from Rodney, use his thoughts to tear the wraith darts to pieces. In the meantime Rodney had been in paroxysm’s of joy over finding the ‘spare’ back up ZPM, in a dusty recess and once John had got his head together from chasing darts mentally all over the blazing sky, he’d discovered that Rodney had convinced the Arsherians that this would be a suitable gift to thank the Lanteans for their assistance. As far as the Arsherians were concerned, that was less than what they were due as heroes - a mere bauble was not nearly enough and they insisted on honoring them all, and John in particular.

John didn’t want to appear ungrateful, especially with a ZPM at stake, but the prospect filled him with a quiet dread as he knew from his own experience, these things never turned out well.

There was MX-3972, where being honored meant being granted the privilege of some pretty heavy tattooing that would have put off some of the most heavily inked marines on the expedition. And then there was MX-972, where Rodney had actually managed to get ahead of the rest of the team on the nearly customary run to the gate, because their idea of honoring a hero was to sacrifice them to the ancients.

So far the Arsherian method of honoring seemed to involve sitting in the Amyr’s luxurious tent, drinking a rather potent local spirit called mastaneh - a ritual which apparently also meant saying the word every time someone made a toast in their honor and taking a sip. It was a potent brew, like sweet burning fire going down his throat, with a smoky spice taste that lingered in the mouth, and there were a lot of toasts as the air grew cooler with the desert evening drawing in. Eventually, there was only so long that their accomplishments could be told and retold even with drinking involved and Amyr Kasteraz, the local chief and their host, ordered native delicacies brought in for a celebratory feast.

John certainly couldn't fault this part of the honoring, as dish after dish was brought in by Arsherian women who wore their hair long and tangled with tiny chiming bells that made him turn and accidentally catch inviting smiles and kohl dark eyes.

Ronon looked like he'd died and gone to heaven when someone placed a platter of roasted meats in front of him, still sizzling from the pit fires outside, rich with spices. Along with it, they placed bowls of something that looked like rice but tasted sweeter and richer with coconut flavor that cut well against the spices on the meats.

Rodney was torn between trying each new food -- talking with his mouth full of the fried cactus leaves that seemed to be a staple of the Arsherian diet -- and the excitement of finally discovering a ZPM that was more than a few percent full and they didn’t have to have a moral dilemma over keeping.

Teyla just seemed pleased that she hadn't had to do too much diplomatic handholding for the rest of the team. They seemed like the kind of people Elizabeth would want to work with, really build an alliance with, and they could always use more alliances and trade for the sort of provisions they seemed to have here. They had fought well against the Wraith, with courage and determination and John was glad they’d been able to help them.

John was very much trying to keep a low profile through the celebratory meal and drinking, responding only to questions asked of him, rather than initiating conversation. He'd tried to keep his indulgence to a minimum because if he was going to have to do something like wrestle one of their warriors to prove himself, being drunk or stuffed with food was not a good thing to do unless he wanted to hold up the fight to vomit in an undignified fashion. Instead, he watched with a permanent smile affixed to his face and a growing apprehension as the end of the food and the gradual dimming of the light signaled whatever was going to happen was going to happen soon.

A fire was lit, and an area cleared in front of them all, and liberally swathed in rich cloths heavily embroidered with golden curlicue patterns. As musicians began an apparently well known piece, a whole group of exceptionally beautiful women came in bearing pots, ranging from drifting sweet incense, to a heavily bejeweled casket, gleaming gold and studded with smoldering garnets that caught the firelight.

The Amyr clapped his hands as the women sat at the edges of the cloth and the music ceased. "My friends! Today has been one of revelations, of new friends found, old enemies destroyed and heroes discovered. Here is a birth of legends. Today we have seen the coming of souroosh and we are truly blessed!"

As the Arsherians applauded in their own way of slapping on their thighs, Teyla leaned across and murmured "Souroosh means beings of light...you would call them angels I believe."

“Fantastic.” He tried to not eye-roll, because they weren’t beings of light, unless the guy was talking in a metaphorical sense. He guessed they had drawn that particular conclusion from the point where things literally started lighting up around him, including the ostentatious show that the Command chair had put on for them all.

The Amyr held his hands out, palms up and angled in a way that made John think of supplication, and then he swept his hands back to his sides, the thin fabric of his sleeves falling back over his wrists. It was showy, but it seemed to have been another signal, a new signal, because one of the women knelt up from her spot on the edge of the cloths, holding her pot aloft to the muted approval of the other Arsherians.

"For this we give due honor to the Amyr of these warriors, the one called Sheppard. He will be marked with the zarrin-tak-suri that only the truest leaders are honored with and then presented so the whole world might know his service to our people."

More applause and he could see Teyla frowning slightly as she tried to figure out the dialect. "I believe it means golden red rose John, or gold of the red rose-flower," she said softly as the applause covered their discussion. "I know they do not tattoo. There were many intrigued by Ronon's markings asking how they were done. I am not sure what they intend."

It made John throw up more of a tight smile, trying to use it as a shield as the Amyr gestured him forwards, to come to the centre. Mark him with the golden red rose sure as hell sounded like tattooing, but the woman was producing a paintbrush and -- okay, painting he could do. Even if it was a henna-type stain, he'd be okay in a few weeks. Worst case scenario.

"Please, Amyr Sheppard, be comfortable," the woman murmured and her eyes were dark and definitely interested as the chain of bells in her hair chimed softly as she leaned forward. "Please remove your garments." She gestured to his shirt and he could see Ronon twitch a smile at him, and even Teyla started to look amused. They all knew that Rodney had bet him he couldn't keep a shirt on for more than three missions in a row. He was never going to hear the end of it.

Rodney gave him a thumbs up, and John could guess that Rodney was already counting the number of chocolate bars he was going to get out of that bet. It had seemed like a good idea at the *time*, and now he started to shrug out of it, already aware that he'd lost.

On the upside a beautiful woman was going to paint on him in... something that looked remarkably like gold dust, now that the precious looking container had been reverentially opened. John slid off his shirt, half wishing he'd been given the opportunity to wash some of the sweat from his body before he had to show himself in public.

Except it seemed that was what the other Arsherian women were apparently carrying. Water and cloths to wipe him clean, and lightly scented oils. John was a little torn as to whether he should be relaxing and enjoying this or concerned that it was happening in public. A very attentive public at that.

At least it wouldn't broach Don't Ask, Don't tell. But it was going to be heck to put in a mission report. 'Rag-bathed by up to twenty Arsherian women, then sprinkled in gold dust,' was going to get some chuckles back in the SGC. But they were gentle with him, and to the side of the tent, Arsherian musicians began to play soft exotic sounds that reminded him a little of some of his tours in the Middle East back on Earth.

Obviously this was going to take some time and he was just wondering whether he was going to have to sit in stoic silence when the Amyr said conversationally, "I will return at first moonrise when you are prepared friend Sheppard. Please, you and your warriors use my saman as if it were your own dwelling. Just ask if there is anything you desire."

He inclined his head and then he and the majority of his retinue left, leaving John at the tender mercies of the Arsherian women, the musician's and the rest of his team.

Once the man was gone, Rodney snorted. "Congratulations on once again being honored, Colonel."

There was a reddish-brown haired woman with skin darker the color of Teyla's wiping a warm damp rag along his hairline. It was just a little distracting because her hands smelled of vanilla and honey and his skin prickled as it cooled in the desert air.

"Thank you Rodney," he said with equal sarcasm. "You know, I could've pointed out that you were the real hero in fixing their outpost command systems."

"He'd’ve probably liked that," Ronon mentioned as he stole another of the strange confections they had been served after the meal. Sweet and tasting of almonds, it dissolved in the mouth once you bit into it. For that alone, he was willing to do this sort of ritual to set up a trade alliance.

Just thinking about it made John wish he could reach out and grab one, since it didn't seem like he was going to be fighting anyone to the death anytime soon. And it was as if Rodney was subconsciously spiting him, because *he* reached out and took another one, next. "I would. And so would you, and Teyla."

"I have heard it is a high honor," Teyla replied equably , sipping at the spice tea served after the mastaneh that tasted a lot like a strong cinnamon coffee to John's taste buds. "You will be as an Amyr to them and this means there will be no difficulty with trade negotiations for you will have an Amyr's honor and they will accept your assurances as binding."

"Hey, that means we can get some more of this stuff," Ronon replied taking another piece. "'s good."

Of course he had to eat with his mouth full just to rub it in.

"I'm sure they'll want something in exchange," Rodney murmured, reaching for one of the breads. It was rich and spicy, and Rodney had forced him to taste-test it for him. The Arsherians dipped it into something that was a little like olive oil and sometimes spread a dark paste on it which was okay to John’s taste, but he preferred it without. "Medicines, probably."

"They have many herbal remedies. The desert plants are potent, I have heard. Off world many attribute their health and vigor to the cactus that makes up much of their diet. Perhaps we should take some back to Dr Beckett?" Teyla said and John nearly started as delicate fingers massaged in the scented oil.

"Sure... whatever you think," he said trying to focus on anything except the woman behind him.

"Having a problem there Sheppard?" Ronon said with a smirk.

"No. I'm doing just fine." Except that there was a washcloth sliding beneath the waistband of his pants, a luxurious scrape of soft warm fabric.

"Amyr Sheppard? We will be removing all your garments," the soft voice informed him. "It is necessary."

Oh great. It would've been a *lot* easier if this was going on in private. In fact he might’ve just allowed himself to lie back and think of Atlantis with a pleased smirk on his face. But in front of the others, he was inhibited no matter what Rodney said.

And out of the three of them watching, only Rodney squirmed a little and dropped his eyes. Of course, of course Teyla didn't have body-related paranoia or concepts like earth-people did. Privacy didn't matter when you lived in long-houses with your family and a couple of others.

"Naked. Okay, naked I can do. Just, uh." He leaned forwards, away from the washcloth, and Rodney cleared his throat while John stood up.

"Uh, should we wait outside for this?"

The woman looked horrified. "No... who would witness of his own people if you were not here? You must stay!"

She seemed very adamant and John grimaced a little even as Ronon patted Rodney on the shoulder. "Relax. Not like we haven't seen it all before McKay."

"Maybe *you* have!" Rodney flapped one hand at Ronon slightly, and stuffed another pastry in his mouth. "Fine, fine. I'm a prude."

Teyla leaned forwards slightly, smiling at the main attendant while John stood up and started to pull his boots off. "He meant nothing by it. We will gladly witness."

John knew he had done worse in his time but he did try to keep a little bit of modesty regardless of Rodney's frequent observations about Kirk-like tendencies which were completely over stated. He was pretty sure Teyla and Ronon did a lot better than he did, simply because he was the team leader and it wasn't the sort of thing he was meant to do.

Okay, *sometimes*, but completely accidentally. He never planned anything, it just sort've happened. Relatively frequently.

Once he was naked, John willingly settled down again, lying on his front and pillowing his head so he could see the others but they, more to the point could not see parts of him.

"Just grin and bear it Rodney," he said trying to get comfortable and hoping to god if they did his front, he wasn't going to get a raging hard-on. He'd never hear the end of it from Ronon. Or McKay. And Teyla had a far too interested gleam in her eye.

“I’m going to put ‘life-changing trauma’ as the title for this mission report.” He folded his arms over his chest, but didn’t look away, and Ronon was just grinning at them all. At least someone got the joke.

“You will not. Mission reports have the planet name and date as the title,” Teyla corrected with a vague sarcastic note to her voice.

"You think I should've insisted that Elizabeth was our Amyr?" John suggested looking up at them with a deliberately light flippant smile.

"That is...technically true," Teyla said with a rather mischievous smile in return.

"We could always use more than one." Ronon leaned back on the wide satiny pillow he was resting on, peering at John while one of the girls got a little intimate with that washcloth.

He'd never really got as far as asking Ronon about what Satedans were like about public nudity. It didn't seem to bother him much, but it was difficult with Ronon to tell what did bother him aside from Wraith. In fact, for all he knew they might consider a lot of things as immoral. Rodney certainly seemed to be leaning that way. He definitely got the impression that Rodney was incredibly embarrassed by the whole thing and kept sneaking glances at him.

The soft tickle of a paintbrush touching skin on his back distracted him, and his skin tingled and grew a little warm in arcs and intricate curls of glittering light.

That definitely wasn't gold paint, or if it was, it was laced with something oil-like. The brush carried on, curling arcs and strokes and shapes over his shoulders and along the line of his spine, and every stroke of the brush left a tingle in its wake.

A warmth penetrated into his muscles, unknotting the sore and strained tissue in a wonderful soft sensation. He pillowed his head, listening to Teyla, Rodney and Ronon talk, even as he was content to drift there.

"If you really want some more of the... almond sweet, then we will get some," Teyla was saying. "Ronon didn't know you wanted the last piece."

"Yes I did," Ronon interrupted.

Teyla sighed. "Ronon... then why did you take it?"

"Because he would've eaten it.”

Yeah, that was his team. They were a crack recon group half the time, and a pre-school teacher and her kids the rest of the time. Rodney's answer slipped in and then back out of John's consciousness, barely registering in his mind. There were more strokes of the brush over his skin, and all of the warm seeping spots started to feel as if they were connecting together. The girl goaded at him, pulling at his hip to get John to roll over.

There was some reason why that was meant to be a problem, but he couldn't quite remember why, so he just went along with it. His team were there and it couldn't be too bad if his team were there. The Arsherians were all over him, glancing at him with sly smiles and bright eyes, the sound of tiny bells drifting and the scent of honey and vanilla lingering from their touch.

The head woman with the paintbrush smiled, and he could feel her smearing the shimmery-warm feeling paint over the head of his cock, painting thick on top of it before curling delicate lines along the sides. It made him shiver and tickled an urge and anticipation into his awareness.

"Oh my god..." That sounded like Rodney, and he didn't sound too happy. He tried to look and see what the problem was but the lights seemed to be suddenly very bright and edged in a glow. It looked pretty cool actually if he thought about it, and hey, there was possibly a problem of some kind here but...

He felt pretty damn good.

"Colonel. Colonel, do you feel all right?" Rodney's voice again, and John didn't feel sure what to do about it. They were painting sworls over his stomach and chest, and another girl had a new paintbrush to stroke designs over his thighs, and it felt so damn good when another one dabbed more onto his dickhead. It was like it was seeping into him and light, golden and warm was creeping along his veins and seeping out.

"I'm feeling... great Rodney," he replied and his words felt a little wild and out of control in his mouth for some reason.

"He does not sound like himself," Teyla sounded concerned and turned on one of the women. "What have you done to him?"

"The zarrin causes pleasurable effects, " one of the women said. "Fear not, it causes no harm. All Amyrs undergo this ritual."

"It feels great." Like heat and sparks sliding into him, all over his skin, leaving him languid and excited at once. The brush played over his lips, and his eyelids, soothing heat seeping in quickly.

"But it's... glowing" Rodney sounded concerned. "It could be... radioactive, or toxic or... he might be allergic!"

Which was probably a valid point and if he thought on it hard it was a concern. But thinking hard was too much like hard work and he let the details of the thought run away from him.

Rodney was concerned for him. It made him smile, probably the broadest smile, most inane smile ever. Heat and sparks, sliding... golden light replacing his blood and a niggling craving was growing for a more solid representation of that feeling.

"I do not think he is allergic Rodney, just... somewhat drugged," Teyla admitted. "This should stop now."

"We are nearly done. All that remains is the presentation," the woman smiled at them all reassuringly and John found himself smiling back, a desire as deep and wide as the desert starting to unfold in him.

"And how does that work, again?" Rodney's voice, trying to work out what was going on while John lifted his hips slightly and sighed.

"He will be taken to the desert and will walk among the suri. Then the world will know there is a new Amyr. It will be your task to find him and keep him safe," the woman replied. "Usually there are many... an Amyr's people enters after him, but of his people there are only you, but this is the way it must be."

"So we have to play chase." Rodney sounded irritated, and John wanted to wipe that irritation away. He wanted to squirm, too, wanted to move and feel air against his skin.

The women all shared a slight knowing smile. "He will not be hard to find," she said cryptically and sat back on her heels. "It is complete. We will inform our Amyr that we are ready to continue."

She stood fluidly and John was mildly disappointed. One less pair of hands, the burning warmth of the paintbrush sliding over his skin...

But it was still warmth, all over his skin, and he thought hard about sitting up, standing up, moving to his feet and wandering out. But he didn't, couldn't, because it would have taken effort.

He was very relaxed and that was kinda odd, because he didn't really relax much, hadn't done for years. Seemed like every week, or every day there was something to be worrying about or some new guilt to repress, or something to hide. Right now he didn't care who saw anything and that should scare him, but he didn’t care. He lifted a hand and stared at it in amazement as curlicues of glittering gold light shimmered and glowed on his skin.

"He's completely out of it," Ronon said looking at him from the other side of the cushions. "But pretty happy."

“If he starts to get ahead of us, it's your job to tackle him." Rodney's voice made it an order, but behind him John could hear movement.

"I do not think he will get ahead of us."

"'sides, he's glowing," Ronon pointed out. "And it's dark. Even you could find him McKay."

That was a nice thought. Being found by McKay. He liked that idea a lot and he allowed the thought to slide sensuously through his mind like a familiar lover.

John felt himself very gradually drawn up to his knees and this was like some weird dream where things felt just a little detached from reality. The music which had been quiet and barely noticeable in comparison to sensation started up with a more forceful active beat and the openings of the tent were flung open and pinned back revealing firelight and darkness.

Part of him was expecting light to come pouring into the tent, but it was night, and they seemed to lose light to the sky, even as he was gently goaded to his feet. John could hear his team, could hear them moving and talking, but sense abandoned him as his skin felt the caress of a cool breeze now.

Strangely that felt good over the heat in his body, like cool fingers replacing the ones that had been massaging him so thoroughly only a little time before. There was loud singing and music outside and he was barely aware that somehow he was being helped to walk and that behind him, the rest of his team were still muttering. Teyla seemed to think that it seemed harmless enough but she was worried about strange effects, Ronon seemed to think it was doing him good and Rodney... who knew what Rodney was thinking.

Rodney was quiet behind them, and John walked forwards to the sound of music, and the flashes of light that were guttering torches in the cool breeze. His muscles felt slow, lagging, as he put one foot in front of the other in front the other, almost as if they didn't want to put forth effort.

The Arsherians had formed a long line stretching out towards the harsher landscape of their homeland. He remembered earlier that day running though immense stretches of tall cactus like plants, draped with long leathery looking green spined ribbons of leaves studded with tightly closed buds. They clustered like some strange desert forest as the heat shimmered from the arid sand and earth twisting them into fractured mirages.

Now, the sun had been replaced by an arc of the first moon, sharp and silver as a blade in the sky with stars blazing through the clear unpolluted air. The night breeze was tantalizing. It seemed to clear some of the drowsy sensation in his head and fan the heat inside calling him forward with some unknown sense of restlessness.

The music thrummed in his veins, made him start forwards, away from the tent. He was supposed to run forwards and his people were supposed to follow him. And if he ran far enough, fast enough, he might take flight, soar off into the sky, as drifting and warm as he felt.

The clapping became a thrumming noise to his ears and getting to the edge of the desert seemed to take forever and an instant all at once and as he entered the first stands of the suri, those leathery spines and buds were starting to bloom, unfurling in enormous deep crimson night blossoms, a heavy scent drifting from them, and golden stamens glittering. Curious a moment, he paused and reached to touch one with his glowing hand and in a sudden reflex, all the flowers unfurled and drifting clouds of glowing pollen seemed to wreathe the suri cactus tree in cold flames as ghostly light sprang up around him.

As he stepped forward, the next plant repeated the trick and he drifted mentally back to that day when he set foot on Atlantis, steps and walls lighting up as he moved from place to place.

It was doing it for him, all for him, and every motion of his brought about more reaction, more blooming and bursts of shining glittering gold in the air in some sort of reaction. The heady feeling started to slide into his lungs as the night air filled with light, leaving him breathless and panting, as the paint had when it had seeped into him. He knew what he wanted.

He needed to find something, he needed more than just this heat of golden thoughts and he was coated with the cold fire on his skin and a growing need within. His instincts told him to run deeper, a tantalizing musky sweetness lying just there... somewhere, over there or...maybe there. He had to find it, had to reach for it as the air began to shimmer and the light spread out from him as its epicenter, setting the whole cactus forest alight with flower-fire.

It was beautiful and he was part of it, moving with it as he shifted towards the flowers, heading deeper into their bright blooms and golden pollen.

"Colonel!"

The voice could've come from anywhere; ahead of him, left, right or behind him. But he knew what he was looking for was further in, deeper into the forest of desert blooms ablaze with cold flower fire. He ran, sand and baked earth slowing him, but he ran with the abandon of someone knowing at the end of the run was the one thing they had always needed in their life. He was grinning as he ran ahead of the light, an arrowhead with a rippling wake of phosphorescent light rippling out behind him. If there was someone behind him, he didn't care, he kept moving up until he tripped and fell within an encircling stand of the enthusiastic night blooming flora. He watched them flare for a while, beacons of his position and then the scent of deep spicy musk intensified and he saw glittering viscous drops glittering like diamonds on the leaves of the cacti around him. And then they extruded gossamer like threads, thousands and thousands of fine drifting syrup touched webs that drifted around him, coating the ground, coating everything.

Experimentally he held out a hand and watched as a twine of fibers touched the glowing gold designs on his skin, coating the tacky substance with the gold dust. And almost immediately, they flickered and coiled back to the trunk of the cactus tree, where a flower flushed white and then closed.

He leaned closer, touching the sticky ooze flowing on the plant. The sensation to get closer, to bury himself in the stuff was intense. Besides him, sparkling pollen covered moths hurled themselves in an ecstasy into the spiny sticky syrup rich embrace of the cactus. Dazed looking desert creatures threaded themselves around the suri, twining with it desperately, and here and there, blooms turned white and closed.

Despite himself he reached and gripped and the sharpness of thorns was like the intoxicating bitterness in a heady wine. Wrong, but the contrast making it very right.

He wanted to be a moth in ecstasy, wanted to fling himself in delight against the musky tall plant, wanted to --

"No, no, no, no, you're insane, if one of those gets in your skin, you'll, oh god, we have to get out of here." There was a hand on his shoulder, wrenching him backwards.

It was half disappointing, but the touch on his shoulder was very distracting in a different way. Rodney. Rodney was there and that was good because he was softer than the plant but he was sure in some instinctual way he would feel as good if not better. He staggered a little and turned smiling automatically as for once he let Rodney steady him.

"Hi Rodney," he murmured and all inhibitions vanished as he leaned in to kiss him like the lover his dreams made of them both.

There was a moment when it felt like the cacti might be a bigger comfort than Rodney. There was a moment when it felt like he was going to be left with sharp and glittering instead of soft and burning touch, but then the mouth against his pressed back, parted slightly.

It was enough of an invitation for him to deepen the kiss, to go further and really taste him over the musk scent that made his knees weak. That ache and need that had grown with that scent blended with Rodney's taste and left him with an intense desire to be touched, to fuck and be fucked.

He pulled back a little to breath and Rodney was glimmering with phosphorescence in his hair that gleamed like a halo. It made him smile even as he breathed. "I want you..."

"This is insane." Why it was insane, John didn't know. Didn't know, couldn't guess, didn't want to guess, but he reached to curl fingers over the back of Rodney's neck, and Rodney's hands touched at his shoulders, twisted at him, away from the cacti into the swirling light filled air.

"...that I haven't done this sooner..." John murmured, nuzzling in at Rodney's neck. "I don't know why I haven't..."

Rodney was so... Rodney. Under his skin, in his mind, his dreams.

Invasive, and pulling at him, away from the heady muck of the cacti and down onto the glittering floor of the desert. He could feel heat against his skin when he knelt, when Rodney knelt with him.

He needed to taste more of him and he leaned into him kissing again, hands moving over soft skin. Everything was here and now, moment to moment, lips to skin, lips to lips and kissing again.

Not enough skin, but it felt like there was more, appearing as if by magic under his fingertips. Every motion brought a burst of pollen into the air, into his lungs, his eyes, until he felt sticky and heated with it, until he felt hands pulling at his hips from behind.

That wasn't Rodney, because Rodney was in front of him, the only thing he could see. The hands were large and powerful, warm on his skin and uncompromising. There was a time, maybe only hours before when he would've cared that someone was doing that.

The sound behind him was a near growl of noise that he recognized, even as the heat of another body drew his attention.

It felt beautiful.

There were breasts pressing up against his side, and then lips against his neck and lips against his mouth and hands on his hips, and a mouth against his shoulder. All John had to do was close his eyes and feel, breathe in the glittering gold and let it slide through his system in twists and turns.

There were an impossible amount of sensations to separate them out one by one, but he found him cataloguing glimpses of identity through flashes of vivid intensity. The taste of Rodney, the silk softness of Teyla's hair over skin, the rough strength of Ronon's hands as he moved him and his wanting growl of "Sheppard..." mixing with Teyla's whispers of 'John' and Rodney calling his name silently with every movement against him, with him as they tangled and twined together.

He'd had a good, interesting long life, but nothing could have prepared him for how it felt to be the center of three people's attention, how it felt to have six hands on him, all touching him in different ways and needs and three different mouths, and his dick throbbing with every beat of his heart.

He ached to be in someone. He ached to have someone in him. He missed it when Teyla's soft mouth vanished from his chest and he missed Rodney for a moment even as Ronon's arm pinned across his body. He opened his eyes to see something he could never have imagined. Teyla turning Rodney, kissing him, guiding his hands over her breasts and shifting him backwards towards him. Just out of reach until he was practically struggling against Ronon's hold to get to him.

Not to get away, but to get more, to get anything, more contact than lips and a body pressed against him, but Ronon's arm held fast and felt like it was carrying him forwards, against Rodney and Teyla again and he could have that after all, he could touch that feel that be part of that, of Rodney's open knees and Teyla's sleek backside, hair dusting over her shoulders.

It surprised him at the first slickness massaged onto his body, down his crack in rough eager motions and when the musk spice smell drifted even stronger he realized dimly that Ronon had literally used what came to hand in the sticky secretion of the suri blooms. He managed to reach some himself, and then couldn't resist Rodney's ass. He smoothed it on, carefully, anticipating the heat and tightness and with relish daydreamed how Rodney would feel when he pushed in.

Rodney lifted his hips, letting John do it, in a flex of his thighs that lifted Teyla up, rocked her forwards. John could see her hands on Rodney's chest, fingertips splayed hypnotically towards Rodney's shoulders, and Rodney's dick in her cunt.

At the same time he could feel Ronon pushing at him and he had a vague distant feeling that he should be alarmed at how quick this was going but when Ronon pushed in hard, it burned and set fire to his own need as he groaned with the roughness and arousal. He was nearly frantic and incoherent with the need to push into Rodney because he was watching them fuck like angels tinged in light and he wanted it so much his fingers were trembling as he at least tried a little to prepare things. And then everything like patience vanished as Ronon thrust again and he knew he made a guttural noise himself as he gripped with his free arm onto Rodney and pushed in slowly as Ronon laughed low in his ear in that rare sound of amusement.

"So tight." And then something he didn't understand, and none of it mattered because he was caught between all three of them, Teyla's back pressing against his chest and her hair against his face while she leaned back, riding Rodney while John fucked him while Ronon fucked John, and John curled his hands around against one of Rodney's knees and one of Teyla's soft breasts and Ronon's hand clutched at his stomach and chest.

In some ways he was a pivot point, the hard thrusts mellowing as they transmitted through his body, It felt good. It felt fantastic to be filled and to fill, to have the best of all worlds. He liked the contrast of hard and soft, the way Ronon was biting down on his shoulder in a sharp rough wildness as he was kissing Rodney with a gentle urgent passion. He liked seeing the wild appreciation in Teyla's face as she arched into Rodney's movements borne from the way he pushed into Rodney’s ass. He loved the way that they started moving together, back and forth, rocking in a mutual quest for orgasm.

He was almost there, already felt like he was there, but it stretched out and time twisted for him, for them. Some movements felt rush rush rush, and others dragged, slipped and slid slowly through the moments before he felt Ronon's pace pick up and Rodney's rhythm collapse, and Teyla leaning back against his shoulder with high gasps.

Teyla appeared to have been hitting her high almost continually, but he lost sight of that under the feeling Ronon was seriously trying to fuck Rodney and Teyla directly from the way he was pushing so deep and hard. It burned like every fast wild sex he’d ever had celebrating cheating death even though there was no death here, just the desert, the night and his team.

But then he was feeling everything, feeling the fireworks from inside as he fucked Rodney and as Ronon had him, the way Teyla had guided his hand where she wanted it, to rub and smooth until she was shuddering almost continually under his touch. The way Rodney was saying his name, wanting more and he didn't want him hurt somehow though he was desperate and somewhere everything bleached out into light and movement and fire inside...

He felt like one of the blooming flowers, burst and scattered into dust and movement and light, and everything went sharp enough to hurt, blinding with an ecstatic release but he still didn't stop until he slouched against Teyla's back, in Rodney, Ronon holding him barely upright and still moving a little.

All he could feel then were the hundreds of gossamer tacky threads, brushing over his skin and retracting in all haste. Around him, blooms were fading to white and his focus was fading as well. Nothing felt wrong about this right now. Especially kissing Rodney and thanking him.

Later, later they could straighten it all out. For the moment, John was content to slouch between his team-mates, as the cacti forest blazed with flower-fire proclaiming in a beacon most likely visible from space that Arshera-tak-Atash had a new Amyr and at that moment, John had to admit, he felt every inch of one.

* * *

It took Elizabeth a little while to get to the reports, because when John's team had ambled through the gate and Rodney had been waving a ZPM around, everyone had become a little distracted. Procedure had been a little by the board and their snatched conversation had given her the idea that it had been a pretty standard mission with a little bit of the normal sort of derring-do that Atlantis' first gate team seemed to indulge in on a daily basis.

However, some badgering later and a few minor crises dealt with and she was sitting with her cup of Athosian tea looking at four mission reports and getting a slightly strange feeling that something was missing. She studied Rodney's a little more closely.

It was full of words -- Rodney's always were -- that almost required a translation by itself. And it hadn't, by all appearances, been a mission that really needed that kind of scientific discourse, but Rodney's report was chunked full of it, information drops that she suspected were glaring, hysterical attempts to bore her to death or distract her from the real content. There was a page and a half describing some kind of native flora *alone*, and Rodney hated plants. Half the time he considered the Botany department worthless, and here he was, waxing poetic about some breed of Cactus.

Frowning, she glanced over at Teyla’s version. The first part of their reports matched. Life and death encounters with the Wraith, the discovering of a malfunctioning Command Chair that Rodney fixed as she and Ronon fended off Wraith Drones. A bit of high excitement and risk of the kind she had come to expect. But this bit was different.

 _The Arsherians expressed their gratitude with a celebratory event, including feasting and entertainment. It was a valuable experience for our people's to grow together and lay foundations for a long lasting alliance. To this end, the Amyr - a powerful chief of these people, proposed that Colonel Sheppard be likewise elevated to Amyr status. The Colonel could not refuse without jeopardizing the promise of the ZPM and underwent a ceremony designed to elevate him to Amyr level. The rest of his team were required to participate also. The following day we cemented alliances with the Arsherians and returned to Atlantis with the gifted ZPM._

Rodney's had been quick -- mention of a stupid ceremony -- and then back to the scientific wonders of the ZPM and the unwittingness by the Arsherians about what kind of amazing thing they had there.

Thinking about it, it was a little suspicious. Usually if one of them had to undergo some sort of rite of passage or...ceremony, then the others took great delight in detailing it in as much embarrassing detail as possible. Rodney and John were particularly bad as they always poked fun at each other. But if Rodney skipped over something did that mean he had done something embarrassing?

She picked up John's report, skimming over the military details of the mission and unusually focusing on John's version of later events.

 _In the interests of securing our position and a distinct military advantage for Atlantis, I did not refuse the request that I would become an Amyr. The ceremony involved some body-painting and unknown harmless celebratory substances that had an effect not unlike getting drunk. I have little or no recollection of the events after a certain point, and it would appear that most of the Arsherians and also my team were in a similar state. I attribute any minor injuries to the fact that I apparently must've had contact with one of the many suri-trees, that resemble flowering large cacti in that period of time. There were many close to the encampment. We were presented with the ZPM in gratitude and respect for my new position and dialed back to Atlantis._

Okay, now that was suspicious. John with memory gaps? That could be serious and she made a note to check Carson's report as well before moving on to see what Ronon had bothered to write up. His reports were a marvel of economy of phrase.

Teyla had suggested that if he were to write the reports in Satedan, they would be *much* more verbose, but in English his reports very much reminded her of her work when she first started to pick up ancient. Subject, verb, accusative case noun, the occasional modifier, and sometimes his sentences stretched out in unfamiliar constructions that were presumably based of native Satedan linguistic structures. It made Elizabeth glad that she could read the ancient derivative that Teyla used. But the written language barrier also made for quick, and above all honest reports from Ronon.

 _There was a lot of food and ceremony. The Arsherians gave many good foods and sweets and meats to us. They played the Deshyr and the Zembyt, and many women painted Sheppard. Sheppard was to fuck a cactus going, but all us had sex instead._

Elizabeth nearly choked on her tea, having to put the cup down. One day, one of his team was going to realize every devious omission that they made, or creativity with the truth was regularly undone by Ronon's version. But as she was never going to tell them, and made sure Ronon's reports didn't get submitted to Stargate command, she was privy to more than anyone of them suspected.

"John, John, John...” she sighed a little to herself. "Only you could get into that situation." She smiled, trying to imagine what sort of confluence of events had occurred whereby women painted John, he nearly tried sex with a cactus and ended up having sex with his team.

She was pretty sure she was never going to find out.

Even as she idly picked up Carson's medical report for this mission she smiled to herself seeing the yellow sticky memo on the outside and tried not to laugh at her Chief Medical Officers opinion on the subject, particularly his last word.

 _Elizabeth. Don't believe the lies, they had a team orgy. Again._


End file.
